"The transport vessel's crew is aboard this ship. We were lending humanitarian aid. Ifyou wish, I can have you speak to its captain and a delegation of its crew."
Laheera glanced to the side of the screen and murmured something, as if consulting with someone unseen. Then she looked back and said, "That would be acceptable."
"Give us five minutes. Calhoun out." He didn't even wait for the screen to blink off as he said, "Bridge to sickbay."
"Sickbay, Dr. Selar here," came the crisp response.
"Doctor, I'd like you to get Captain Hufmin and a couple of representatives of the Cambonpassengers up here immediately. Whoever is healthiest and is qualified to speak on their behalf. And make it fast."
"Will three minutes suffice?"
"Make it two. Calhoun out." He promptly turned to Boyajian and said, "Can you raise the Marquand?"
"Aye, sir."
"Good. Get me Si Cwan on subspace. I want to see what he knows about these 'Nelkar' people."
He looked to Shelby and he knew what she was thinking. She was musing that if Calhoun hadn't let Si Cwan and Zak Kebron head out in the runabout for the purpose of rendezvous with the ship Kayven Ryin,then he would be aboard the Excaliburnow, in a position to be of some use. Shelby, however, was far too good an officer to voice those thoughts . . . at least, while other crewmen were around. So instead she nodded noncommittally and simply said, "Good plan, sir."
"Zoran, it's slowing down!" Aboard the Kayven Ryin,a group of Thallonians had been watching the approach of the Marquandwith tremendous interest and smug excitement. For what seemed the hundredth time, Zoran had checked over his disruptor, making certain that the energy cartridge was fully charged. But with the alarmed shout from one of his associates, Rojam, Zoran tore himself away from his preoccupation with his weapon.
Rojam was correct. The Marquand,dispatched by the Excaliburand bearing the unknowing target of Zoran's interest—named Lord Si Cwan, former prince of the Thallonian Empire—had been proceeding at a brisk pace toward the Kayven Ryin.
"They suspect," muttered Rojam.
"Do something, then," snapped Zoran. "We can't be this close to having Si Cwan in our hands, only to let him slip through our fingers now! I must have his throat in my hands, so that I can squeeze the life from him myself!" The other Thallonians nodded in agreement, which was hardly surprising. Whenever Zoran spoke, the others had a tendency to concur.
Reactivating the comm channel, Rojam hailed the oncoming runabout. He tried not to sound nervous, apprehensive, or all that eager, although a little of any of that would have been understandable. After all, they were representing themselves as frightened, stranded passengers aboard a crippled science vessel. A degree of nervousness under the circumstances would be right in line with the scenario they were presenting. "Shuttle craft Marquand,is there a problem? You seem to be slowing." He paused and then added, "Aren't you going to help us?"
There was no reply at first and another of the Thallonians, a shorter and more aggressive man named Juif, whispered, "Target them! Target them! Use exterior weapons and blast them into atoms! Hurry, before it's too late!"
"They're at the outer edge of the firing range," Zoran noted angrily. "We likely couldn't do them any significant damage, and they'd still be in a position to get away. Hell, their instruments would probably inform them we're locking on to them. They'd leap into warp space and be gone before we got a shot off." The edge to his voice became more pronounced as he said in a threatening manner, "Rojam . . ."
"They're not responding."
"That is unacceptable. Get them on the line."
"But if they won't respon—"
Zoran's large hand clamped down on the back of Rojam's neck, and the latter felt as if his head was about to be torn from his shoulders. "Providence has delivered Si Cwan to us," snarled Zoran, "and I will not have him escape. Now get them on the line!"
Never had Rojam been more convinced that his demise was imminent. And then, as if in answer to unvoiced prayers, a gravelly voice came over the speaker. "This is Lieutenant Kebron of the Marquand.Sit tight, Kayven Ryin.We're just dealing with a communique from our main vessel. Kebron out."
"Raise them again!" urged Zoran.
"I can't. The channel's gone dead."
"If they get away," Zoran said meaningfully, "that channel won't be the only thing around here that's dead."
Si Cwan stroked his chin thoughtfully. "The Nelkarites, eh?"
"You know them?" Calhoun's voice came over the subspace radio. "Are they trustworthy?"
"Nowadays, there are few in Sector 221-G whom I would consider absolutely trustworthy," Si Cwan told him. "Relatively speaking, the Nelkar had been fairly harmless. Never started any wars, more than happy to accept Thallonian rule. However . . ."
"However?" prompted Calhoun when the word seemed simply to dangle there.
"Well . . . they're a scavenger race, by and large. Fairly limited in their design and potential. They tend to cobble their vessels together from whatever they can find, using technology that they don't always understand."
Soleta's voice was audible over the link as she commented, "That would explain the somewhat haphazard design of their vessel."
"Does that answer your questions, Captain?" asked Si Cwan, not quite able to keep the urgency out of his voice. "Because if it's all the same to you—"
"Stay on station. Do not proceed to the Kayven Ryinuntil you hear back from us."
"But Captain—!"
"I want to get matters sorted out on this end before you board that vessel, and I want to know I can get in touch with you. If the comm system on the Kayven Ryingoes out, you'll be incommunicado."
"Captain—!" Si Cwan tried to protest.
But Calhoun wouldn't hear any of it. Instead he said preemptively, "Did you copy those orders, Lieutenant Kebron?"
Without hesitation, Kebron said, "Understood, Captain."
"Excaliburout."
Making no attempt to cover his anger, Si Cwan sprang to his feet and slammed his fists into the ceiling of the shuttle craft. Kebron watched him impassively. "What do you think you're doing?"
"I'm getting angry!" snapped Si Cwan. He began to pace the interior of the shuttle craft like a tiger. "Why, don't you ever get angry?"
"I try not to," said Kebron evenly. "If I lose control, things tend to get broken."
"Things. What kinds of things," demanded Si Cwan without much interest.
"Oh . . . heads . . . backs . . . necks . . ."
Captain Hufmin of the damaged vessel Cambon,along with two of the refugees—a husband and wife named Boretskee and Gary, who had developed into a kind of leaders-by-default—sat in the conference lounge with Calhoun and Shelby. On the screen was Laheera of Nelkar, and it was quite apparent to Calhoun that Hufmin and company were spellbound by her.
"You understand that we were only concerned about the welfare of your passengers," Laheera said to Calhoun in that wonderfully musical voice of hers. "Let us not lose sight of one simple truth: This is our sector of space. You are merely a visitor here. It is to our interest to watch out for one another. It is difficult to know whom to trust."